


Here

by BrosleCub12



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur Saves the Day, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrosleCub12/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, Arthur isn't thinking about it at the time, he decides to just do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to this prompt over at dreamwidth: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4192978#cmt4192978. It's been cleaned up and edited a fair bit; I imagine it wasn't quite what the OP was looking for, and it is quite short. In any case, I love these two boys together; they're just wonderful. 
> 
> Please note: This piece contains mild violence, some mild implied non-con and vague hints of child-abuse - but mostly it's just Arthur being brilliant, so nothing really nasty. Feedback is much appreciated, seeing as this is my first CP fic.

Really, Arthur isn't thinking about it at the time, he decides to just do it. 

Well, does he even _decide_ to do anything really, considering it's a split-second act? When he plays the whole thing back afterwards in his head (and actually, he rather wishes he had popcorn. Or a bag of Minstrels, that would be brilliant!) he has to wonder: do you actually have time to think about well, _anything_ in a split-second? Did he even think about at all (considering his dad always said he didn’t; that he never thought about anything, ever?). 

Because really, in the end, all he remembers is stepping in front of Martin and plunging his fist into the large, burly, drunk man’s nose.  
And yeah, okay, it makes the man’s nose bleed, and yeah, okay, Arthur’s fist hurts like billy-oh right after because the large, burly, drunk man has got a hard nose and yeah, okay, it’s against airdot protocol; Mum’s told him a million times. 

But all Arthur knows is that he can’t have somebody hurting his Skipper. 

The large, burly, drunk man staggers backwards and maybe it’s just Arthur, but he doesn’t seem so large anymore now; maybe it’s because he’s doubled over and it might be the look on his face because he’s looking at Arthur like… Arthur’s not sure he covered this one in Ipswich. It’s an odd look. Somewhere between, erm… apprehension – yeah, that’s it – and maybe… fear?

No. Surely not. No-one ever gets frightened of Arthur, unless he starts singing _Glee_ (that’s what his Mum says) and Arthur’s not sure he’d want people being frightened of him, what would be the point of that? But in this case…

Either way, the large, burly, drunk man takes one look at him and then flees. Arthur blinks, watches him shuffle away as quickly as possible across the dimming evening of the airfield.

‘And don’t come back!’ he yells after him as an afterthought. Then he turns his attention to Martin, un-crumpling himself from where he’s curled up against the wall. 

‘Skip?’ There’s something gleaming in his eyes and Arthur knows that look all too well – crying, but trying not to, which is just _really_ upsetting. Being punched isn’t fun after all, and he takes his Captain’s arm with his other hand – the one that isn’t sore. ‘Are you alright?’ 

Martin nods, coughs, wiping the blood from his lip where that large, burly, drunk man tried to hurt him. ‘Fine. Th-thankyou, Arthur. I must say, I’m surprised that…’ He pauses, coughs, and Arthur rubs his back protectively. ‘Good job you came back.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur thinks about that for a minute, or at least tries to. And then he’s not sure he _wants_ to. 

‘Let me take you over to the portacabin,’ he offers, ‘Mum’s got a first-aid kit in there.’ He shakes his fist again and hesitates before putting an arm around Martin, leading him into a place where he knows the Skipper will be safe. Plus, he _really_ needs to get some ice on his hand.

He tends to Martin’s lip in the portacabin, obviously, he’s been trained in first-aid, and he always looked after all the animals in their street whenever they got hurt – even that paralysed squirrel that bit him, he’s still got the scars on his left hand. 

When they’re done, and the cabin’s locked up, and they’re stepping outside and the afternoon’s got even darker, Arthur glances at Martin looking around them and then takes his arm. 

‘Skip,’ he says, gently, ‘No disrespect, and obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… I think you should come home with me.’

Martin looks at him for a long moment and then nods his head, much to Arthur’s secret relief. ‘Alright.’

‘Brilliant!’ Arthur beams at that; after all, he always loved sleepovers as a kid. And they might even have some apple yum-yums left over at home; apple yum-yums are brilliant!

‘But, er…’ Martin glances down at his hand, ‘maybe I should drive.’

‘Oh. Yeah.’ Secretly, Arthur is glad that the Skipper has offered, because his fist _really_ hurts. Martin’s alright, though. That’s the main thing. 

When they get back to the Shappey house, his Mum isn’t there – she’s gone on a date with Herc, which is nice – and he takes Martin’s bag (one of the things he remembers his Mum telling him growing up whenever they had a guest over, _make them feel welcome, Arthur, provided we can stand the person; if not, you have my full blessing to spit in their drink)_ and carries it inside, petting Snoopadoop as she jumps up at him and then sniffs around Martin's feet curiously. He takes Martin straight upstairs, gives him a pair of his pyjamas that hang off him and puts Martin in his bed – although after a lot of cajoling and a fair bit of ‘No, Arthur, I really couldn’t’; honestly, what’s the problem, he hasn’t had a chance to use his sleeping bag in ages, it’ll be fun, and anyway, the poor Skip’s had a shock. In the end, it’s only when he threatens to sing the _Glee_ version of ‘Run Joey Run’ that Martin meekly agrees, having not forgotten how Arthur nearly got them all arrested for it over in New Zealand (although his performance wasn’t that bad, really and it was fine once all the local angry fans had been pacified; at least that’s what Arthur thinks anyway). 

He brings Martin up a drink of water, two ice-cubes, nice and cool like Mum used to bring him and splits his last Toblerone, watching Martin lying under his covers, nibbling a solitary triangular slice, oddly delicate. Arthur’s bed isn’t a double-bed; Arthur can’t really see the point of those, too big and spacey really and might be a bit lonely if you haven’t got anyone to share it with – but there’s still something about his Skipper that makes him seem really small beneath the duvet, drawn up as it is to his chest. Vulnerable. Maybe it’s just the big pyjamas. 

‘Arthur,’ Martin says suddenly, and Arthur perks up; he likes talking and he’s glad that Martin is, because he doesn’t like it when it’s quiet. ‘Thankyou.’

Arthur blinks at that and then he reaches out with both arms and gives his captain a hug, just because, resting his chin on his shoulder. Martin’s arms come back around him, hesitant at first, as though he’s not used to being hugged, and honestly, that’s just really super-upsetting (although not _super_ maybe; after all there’s nothing super about being upset in the first place…). It’s enough to prompt Arthur to briefly cradle his Captain’s head with one arm, just so he can feel the Skipper’s being looked after for a change.

‘Sleep well, Skipper,’ he says, squeezing him and pulling back, before hopping off the bed and snuggling happily into his sleeping-bag, _brilliant._ He waits for the sound of Martin’s voice and when he hears it, he swears it sounds like a smile. 

‘Goodnight, Arthur.’

*


End file.
